Friday, December 23, 2011

It’s been more than a year and a quarter since I thought I lost everything. And since then, I’ve been everywhere you could imagine. Been undressed by kings, been to the bottom of the seas, been to the kingdom of hearts, been to different bat caves and sometimes, even to the depths of a howling Inferno. I’ve seen things, great and bad. And what I understand is that there is little understanding of happiness in everything.

Happy are those who sleep with demigods, then those who pretend to be emperors. And then there’s the cabinet maker, those who lick their black mirrors and then those who see visions of future. Chief among these, I’m curious to the savage state of those who are drunk from the cocktails of romance.

This I pretend to understand, for I thought that happiness lies at the bottom of its crystallized glass. And so like Alice, I drank from the many strange bottles I saw. “Drink me,” the bottles said; printed in full bold colors attached to their necks. Neither turned me giant; capable of picking the tree of triumph. Neither turned me small; enabling me escape through the narrow hole leading to the illusive freedom of reality.

You see me and people tell many things about me. To some, I am miniscule rabbit; others thought I’m a glaring vulture. Consequently, these tend to equate to my idea of happiness.

I couldn’t blame them though.

This holiday season, there seem to be an additional present for every single one I get. Often you will hear people say “I hope you find happiness,” “I hope you’ll get hitched soon,” “I wish for you to find the right guy,” and many other variations of it. Honestly, it’s the same desire I silently wished for a distant time ago. It’s a silent prayer to no one in particular since I never really included it to my prayers to God.

I’ll tell you what most of you do not know. Strip of all names, all cloaks of grandeur and the high ambitions I speak off, I am, first and foremost – a kid.

A boy in his early twenties who has specific fixation over leather boots, who enjoys mini RC cars and glows every time an M&M mascot is in sight, is what lies behind philosophical speeches, high political commentaries and drama anthology worthy write ups. As my iBlogger friends recently discovered, I adore those wide eyed cuddly stuffed toys, swoons over giant wheels and tend to get nervous whenever a clown is in sight.

I am but a kid. And I may have wished for a romantic relationship, even frustrated myself over the idea, but I no longer lean on that kind of longing. I’ve walked the narrowest of the narrowest road and have seen one of the worst images there are, and at last I’ve learn to content myself in small things.

When you’re happy with the small stuffs, happiness is easy. Happiness not only becomes yours but you yourself, you become happiness.

I am my own happiness, so to people wishing me a boyfriend or a partner to gain happiness, thank you, but no more that I want one.

I’ll tell you my idea of happiness. Whenever I could run and play barefoot on the seashore, whenever my friends and I would take a bath and sleep together, whenever I see stars hovering over dark clouds, whenever I get new books, whenever I eat hand to mouth, whenever I listen to strangers tell their stories – that, I am already happy.

Bad decisions from the past does not make me any less of a person. Or being mistreated. Or being misunderstood. Or being misjudged, being mistaken and rejected. Or being single. I am as good as you are lovers; probably even happier than most of you are.

So long as there are free cakes to taste, so long as jokes would always come, so long as stealing one’s donut is not punishable by law and Timezone won’t be swallowed whole by the Earth, I think I will be fine. If not, I think this time, it’s best I teach my feet how to fly.

The Chronicler

What they say about the Désolé Boy

Instead of writing pseudo-intellectual words to give a slab of my egocentric and psycho-deranged person, allow me to share a few words of people, sometimes in existence, others far-fetched, said to describe this humble crook:

"Your grammar is grossly twisted and it's very sickening to delve into your ill thoughts."

-according to an anonymous e-mail sender.

"Ahh, Désolé Boy, a poor creature who can't seem to move-on from a memory."